More Than an Escape–1
The next day we drive so much more.
We drive through miles of cracked desert and sun bleached signs, the kind of endless
stretch that makes the road feel like it’s going nowhere. But inside the car, there’s music playing and I feel like I can breathe.
We’re only a few miles outside Solince when Zaid pulls into a gas station off the highway. I stay in the care while he heads inside.
When he comes back, he dumps a handful of snacks in my lap. “Thought you’d want
options.”
I eye the mix, spicy chips, chocolate covered almonds, a slushie with two straws.
“What, no pickles this time?” I ask, smirking. I almost grabbed it and threw it out the window yesterday when the car smell was too much.
His mouth twitches. “Didn’t want you littering the highway again.”
I roll my eyes.
He leans against the doorframe, holding the slushie out to me. “At least I got white cherry
this time.”
I take it, my fingers brushing his.“My favorite.”
In Solince, we stop at a diner just off the square. The same kind of place we’ve become
accustomed to.
We talk about mundane things, get into an argument about what makes a movie good or
not.
“I just don’t like it when you can tell an actor is acting,” I say, taking a sip of my soda.
He tilts his head. “But they’re actors.”
I throw a fry at him. “Yes, but they are supposed to feel like their character, not an actor.”
He laughs, catching the fry and popping it in his mouth. “Come on, let’s go. We still have
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More Than an Escape–1
to check in and I want to sleep. I’m tired of driving.”
Outside, the air’s cold, dusk folding into night.
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